


well the taller they stand (the harder they fall)

by mirrorfade



Series: the reaper grins [6]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Blood Magic, Circle Culture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-21
Updated: 2015-03-21
Packaged: 2018-03-18 22:58:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3587190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mirrorfade/pseuds/mirrorfade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A psychopath and a blood mage talk about mabari and revolution. Aggressive!Hawke wants things. Idunna wants to survive. Sometimes, that means teaming up with a psychopath. Other times, it means joining forces with a templar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	well the taller they stand (the harder they fall)

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from Daniel Licht’s _Honor for All_. TW for violence, Circle culture, and nongraphic descriptions of survival sex. 
> 
> I'm not entirely sure where this is going, but the muses have spoken. This may turn into something sprawling and monstrous. Who knows. This one - and possibly the ones that follow - are less focused on Hawke, and more on Idunna and the Kirkwall circle.

Idunna has never had a pet before. The novelty hasn’t yet worn off. She lies down on her cot, the one without proper blankets, and the little mabari curls up at her belly. Idunna has named the dog Honey. On the nights when the templars don’t hand out candles or provide sufficient wood for the fires, Honey keeps her warm. Kirkwall nights can turn bitter in a moment, and if a few mages get sick in the darker corners of the Circle, well, no one sees the templars complaining. So Idunna keeps Honey close, and wraps a scarf around the dog’s neck as a makeshift collar. Not silk, not even strong linen, but it works. 

A woman learns how to make do. Especially a daughter of Darktown. And how things look are very important in a place like this. Idunna barters for some dye and the services of a clever apprentice, and finally she comes away with a braided collar the exact color of pressed violets. Then everyone knows that Honey belongs to her, and that Idunna is the one they should go to, if they want to see the dog. 

A dog, something soft and sweet and not prone to biting, is worth more than gold in a place like this. Idunna has let people hold Honey in their arms in exchange for secrets, protection, and a steady supply of wine. Honey doesn’t mind the attention, wiggling and happy as only a puppy can be. 

And every day, Idunna reaps the rewards of their partnership. 

Isn’t that a funny notion, partnering with a dog? But a woman in the Circle, especially a blood mage, only has so many choices. 

If she’s smart and careful, then perhaps one day Idunna will have enough pull with the templars to trade for a proper collar. One made out of leather, maybe, with a gold buckle. A girl can dream. 

It would be better, Idunna thinks, if it didn’t leave her indebted to Hawke. 

**

“You’ve done well for yourself,” Hawke observes, a wine glass in one hand and the other resting on her hip. She’s wearing the robes of a chantry sister. They don’t suit her at all. 

Idunna sits on her cot with Honey, and smiles. Of all her visitors, Hawke is the only one who brings ugly news with her presents. It’s always one demand or another. Updates on Baby Hawke, ugly little templar secrets, or what the senior enchanters do when they’re so very sure that no one is looking. Idunna keeps Hawke informed, answers every question posed, and in exchange, she gets to live in something resembling comfort. 

Today, Hawke has brought her a little bag of cosmetics. Kohl for her eyes, blush, and a few bits of lipstick. Idunna likes the violet colors the best. They’re not as dramatic as red, but they draw attention to her eyes. 

Despite some recent setbacks, Idunna can still paint a pretty mask on her face. 

She smiles for Hawke, careful not to show her teeth. “I _abhor_ dissatisfied customers. They leave such negative energy behind.”

Hawke snorts. “You must have gotten good tips at the Rose.”

“I did. That’s kind of you to say.”

“You’re proud of yourself.” Hawke tips her head to the side, swirling the wine around in the cup. Idunna doesn’t know where she got it. Probably stole it from one of the templars. “I like that.”

Most people don’t. Idunna has to wonder at that. What sort of a person is Hawke, that she can appreciate a whore taking pride in her own survival? 

“The dog is growing,” Hawke continues. She sets the cup aside. “That’s good. She’ll be a little warrior soon. You’ll have to make sure she runs, otherwise it’s a waste of perfectly fine muscle.”

Honey sniffs at Idunna’s hands, begging for treats. Always hungry, that one. Idunna curls her hand around Honey’s collar, just in case. It’s doubtful that Hawke will take the dog back after all this time, but there’s always the chance that she’ll _try_. Betrayal is very easy in a place like this. “There’s no sun in here.”

“You’ll manage. You tend to.”

Idunna smiles, because it’s true. “What can I help you with on this fine day, Mistress Hawke?”

“I want to know about the templars.”

“What about them?”

Slowly, Hawke sets her hands over her belly, the sleeves of her robes draping artfully. Pretty as a picture – or it would be, if Hawke were a beautiful woman. She’s not. The robes fit awkwardly, far too tight around the shoulders. The robe was obviously made for someone else, someone who doesn’t run around swinging a greatsword. People like Hawke look wrong in everything except armor. Anything else is a lie. “The ones who help you.”

Idunna lets Honey go so the puppy can romp around the room, claws scrabbling against the floor. “Concerned about my well-being, Hawke? I’m touched.”

“Don’t be.” Hawke flashes her teeth in what might be a smile. “I want to know who’s going to stand firm when it comes.”

 _When it comes_. Oh dear. 

They stare at each other for a moment. Idunna lean back on her cot, twirling a stand of hair around a finger. A small distraction. It makes people look at her mouth and imagine what they will. “Mistress _Hawke_. Are you planning a war?”

Hawke shrugs. “Would I do that?”

Of course she would. There’s very little that someone like Hawke wouldn’t do, if the whim struck. Idunna clasps her hands loosely. “I don’t know.”

Recent events have taught Idunna to play everything carefully. 

“Hmm. Well, consider a hypothetical world. Not ours, but…similar. One where mages and templars don’t get along, and a certain Knight-Command made the sad mistake of pushing too far...” This time, Hawke does smile. Her teeth are sharp and shiny with gold. “In that world, which of the templars would stay and protect the mages?”

“You assume any of them would,” Idunna mutters. 

“I do.”

The Maker admires your certainty, Idunna doesn’t say. She doesn’t believe in the Maker anyway, and never could figure out whether or not Hawke does. Probably not, with all the blasphemy she spits. “Ser Miranda would. A few of Ser Thrask’s friends are still alive, though most of them have been demoted or gone missing out in Darktown. You know how it goes. Perhaps the Knight-Captain. It depends on how obvious our dear commander was about everything. But not many.”

Hawke nods. “What would it take to convince them?”

“The knight-captain?”

“Among others. Some of them might be swayed.”

“Gold,” Idunna says flatly. “And a rank when you overthrow a certain someone. A position in the new Gallows. But most of them will stand with her. Even you don’t have enough coin to bribe an entire army.”

Because that is what the Gallows is – a standing army. People tend to forget that little detail. 

None of this seems to surprise Hawke, though. Idunna leans back. “But you don’t want to start a war, do you?”

Hawke bares her teeth. “Maybe I’ve got a new hobby. Maybe I like to watch things burn.”

“Maybe you just want to protect the Baby Hawke,” Idunna retorts. “Fuck everybody else, right?”

Hawke shrugs, not denying it. “ _Someone_ has done unfortunate things. They won’t stand. Eventually she’ll push a little too hard, and then…”

“And then,” Idunna agrees. 

Part of this is inevitable. 

Hawke whistles to the puppy. “Get me names, woman. Get me some loyal fools and I’ll make sure you live.”

As if it were that simple. Idunna scowls as Hawke puts the puppy on her lap. “Why not just take your sister out now?”

There’s silence for a moment. Hawke lifts Honey up, examining the puppy’s eyes. “What do you think?”

Idunna thins her mouth. It’s a little terrifying to realize that there are things even Hawke can’t touch. She wonders how many people are watching Bethany Hawke in the Gallows, what precautions that Meredith has taken. Of course she’s realized what Hawke loves – so much as a person like Hawke can love anything – and what it means for the Gallows. 

Everything is about hostages these days. 

Idunna shrugs finally. “All right. But I want assurances. I’m not dying for you.”

Hawke sets the puppy down. “You might die anyway. But you’re a smart woman, Idunna. I have faith in your persistence.”

Of course. Theirs is a practical partnership. 

“Wait,” Idunna says suddenly, as Hawke makes to leave. 

“What?”

“I want a promise. I want your fucking _word_.”

Hawke narrows her eyes. 

“If they make me Tranquil, you’ll kill me.”

“Well,” Hawke murmurs, “I could do that.”

“You will do that,” Idunna tells her, flatly. “Or I won’t help you at all.”

 _That_ gets her a bark of laughter. Hawke’s teeth flash, sharp and gold in the Gallow’s light. “ _Fierce_ little thing, aren’t you? Fine. I’ll be your death if you lose your mind, dear Idunna. This I _swear_.”

**

Hawke leaves the wine behind in the stolen cup. Idunna drinks it down in one go, holding the puppy close to her heart. Everyone knows what Thrask tried to do, and the templars are bussing about trying to figure out where everyone stands. Meredith can’t hide her meanness any longer, and every night, someone dies or is made Tranquil. Every damn night. Idunna hears the screaming. It echoes through the walls. And if it’s quiet – the worst ones are quiet – then the demons come and tell her about it, whispering ugly truths through the walls. 

They promise escape, the demons. But they lie. The cost is always a little too high. A person like Idunna has to read the fine print in the contract. Things like this always have nasty little promises tied into everything. They get you when you’re slow, so you must always be sharp and fast and smarter than your enemy. 

And in the Circle, everyone could be your enemy. Not just the templars. 

Idunna presses her face into Honey’s fur. The puppy grunts. “Come, little one. We’re going to make friends.”

Whether or not Hawke is right, something is going to happen. Idunna knows that she’ll have to run eventually, or her number of friends will dwindle to dangerous lows. And when that happens, there will be no protecting herself. Someone stronger will come and ruin her. Idunna has worked too hard and lived too long just to take that lying down. 

No, she’ll fight. She doesn’t know how to wage war, but she can learn. 

**

Day by day, Honey grows. Little puppy legs grow into gangly mabari limbs, clumsy and unsure. The little dog won’t be little for much longer. Ever day she gallops tiny circles around Idunna’s cells, bouncing off the corners when she hits the walls, finally collapsing on Idunna’s cot with a great _thump_. Then the dog rolls onto her belly and whines until Idunna pets her, and lets Honey smear her makeup with little doggy kisses. 

Smuggled makeup, even. Brought in by silent Tranquil or narrow-eyed templars, passed through trembling hands until finally it comes to Idunna, mushed up and cracked, but colorful nonetheless. If she closes her eyes, sometimes she can inhale the chalky scent and imagine she’s back in the Rose. 

Not that a whorehouse is anything like paradise, but Idunna was in control there. That’s close enough to home. She has dreams about that sometimes. She feels homesick for that stupid place and its overpriced wine. 

Funny how that happens. 

Idunna paints her mouth in pale red, just enough to get her noticed, and goes out into the Circle to earn her keep.

**

She is beyond lectures, the Enchanters tell her, but not above making potions to sell for scraps in the Gallows. Idunna bites her tongue and does as she’s told, Honey trotting by her heels. The little dog runs up and down the halls when Idunna works, but never strays very far. She always keeps Idunna in sight. 

It’s been said that mabari often resemble their chosen master. Idunna does not know if Honey picked her or not. There wasn’t much choice in the matter. Hawke simply dropped the runt off in a basket, and left her in Idunna’s care. Still, the puppy – soon to leave puppyhood behind – has not left. A mabari certainly could, given the inclination. But still, Honey lingers. And she watches the templars. Never once does the puppy accept treats from the ones with cold eyes, the ones who hold poison in their hands and hatred deep inside. 

A survivor down to the bone. Just like Idunna. 

So she makes her potions and takes inventory down on cracking parchment like a good little mage, head bowed down low when the templars come calling. And when one of them inclines her head towards Idunna, a half smile visible through the slit in his helm, then Idunna makes her excuses and goes to work. 

**

She leaves Honey outside the room for that part. She never much liked having an audience for that sort of thing. 

**

Her templar friend is in an uncharacteristically giving mood the next morning, and leaves her with an entire leg of ham and a little box of candied chestnuts on a tray outside her door. Idunna pulls the whole mess together on her cot, and feeds pieces of ham to Honey. The puppy isn’t yet a lady, but she knows not to droll on Idunna’s robes when she eats. 

A woman needs to look her best in the Circle. Drool stains never did anyone favors. 

“Look at that,” Idunna murmurs. “Someone loves me, puppy.”

Honey sneezes. 

**

He doesn’t, of course, but he’s not overly cruel about any of it. There are worse things. She’s had worse men in the Rose, worse templars in here. After awhile, it all goes away. You do what you have to. 

One templar or another, it doesn’t matter. This one gives her sweets and little bottles of perfume. He’s sheepish when he admits that he likes to call her names, and offers to stop grabbing her hair when they fuck against the wall. Idunna smiles and tells him, go for it. She’s an understanding sort of woman. She’s up for anything. 

It takes a week to get the first secret out of him, and less than a month to find something useful. 

**

Getting a message to Hawke isn’t hard. There’s always someone willing to trade favors, and _everyone_ wants to look at Hawke. Even if they don’t speak with the bitch, everyone wants to stare at her. Idunna really doesn’t understand it. Killing a bunch of qunari isn’t anything special. Making an enemy of Meredith isn’t hard either. Who hasn’t tried that at least once?

There’s just something about Hawke. Something that digs under your skin and makes a home there. If she could put a name to that, Idunna thinks she’d probably understand the whole damn world. Hawke might as well be running the city with all the damage she causes it. 

One day, she might do something so terrible that it breaks the world. Or saves it. Isn’t that a thought?

Either way, Hawke is still the person keeping Idunna stocked with favors and dog treats. So when the right information comes her way, Idunna sends off her message and waits. 

She doesn’t have to wait long. It’s only been a few hours when Hawke finds her. 

**

Idunna is out in the Gallows courtyard, selling horribly overpriced runes to bored looking merchants. She’s given up trying to justify the inflation; the dwarves see through all her tricks, and it’s hot besides. Idunna pushes her hood back, wiping sweat off her face. 

The sun is high today, and there’s no wind. She doesn’t mind. This is the first time she’s been in the courtyard for six months. 

Honey is bounding up and down the courtyard, bothering merchants and howling at the guardsmen. A few of the templar recruits have been alternating between chasing Honey and attempting to make her fetch a stick – an undertaking that might have been better suited to fools not dressed in full plate armor. One of the girls goes tumbling down with a mighty crash, to Honey’s howling and the laughter of her fellows. A few of the templars by Idunna’s stand chuckle to themselves.

Idunna snorts, despite herself. Teenagers. She can’t remember being that young. Maybe it never happened. 

“ _You_ look nice,” one of the templars drawls, in a familiar accent. “And what _is_ that scent? Oh wait, I remember now. Essence of Darktown. Always leaves you with that special itch when you’re done. Even better than flowers.”

Idunna puts a smile on her face. “Hawke. You look different.”

Hawke, it seems, likes to dress up in other people’s clothes. First chantry robes, and now a full set of templar armor. Right down to the skirt and chainmail beneath. Her face is hidden behind the regulation helmet. It’s either a fetish or an incredibly clever ruse. 

Except for the accent – once a Dog Lord, always a fucking Dog Lord – Hawke might as well be any templar bitch loitering around on duty. No one is going to look twice at her. 

Idunna picks up a frost rune, turning it over in her hands. “Might I interest you in something special?”

“You already have, sweet thing.”

“You say such naughty things, Mistress Templar,” Idunna murmurs. “I might blush.”

“Blame it on the Maker, woman. He’s made the sun burn today.”

“Tch.” Idunna bats her eyes. It’s probably lost on a brute like Hawke, but one must keep in practice. “He should burn something else. I might give Him suggestions. Are you sure I can’t interest you in a rune, Mistress Templar? I’ve heard they save your armor from evil things. And we work so _hard_ on them...”

“Well,” Hawke says. “Since you put it like _that_.”

“We wouldn’t want to work for nothing,” Idunna murmurs. 

Hawke’s teeth click together. The helmet hides her smile. It’s probably for the best. “Wouldn’t that be a shame. All that wasted talent.”

She overpays for the rune, and Idunna slips her a message with the package as the sun beats down. Then Hawke gives her a proper templar salute and saunters off into the shadows, no one the wiser. Eventually Honey comes back, panting and exhausted, and falls asleep on Idunna’s feet. 

The news isn’t good, but Hawke doesn’t come back and murder her in the night for providing it. Idunna counts that as a productive day. 

Quite simply, the templars have closed ranks. Even the ones who might be sympathetic have pulled back. Anything that might look like kindness could be named treason under the Knight-Commander’s watch. What Hawke needs are true believers, and they all got themselves killed following Thrask. That leaves lyrium addicts and a few others who might be bullied into small gestures. None of them will stand at the wall if the Knight-Commander finally sets the Gallows on fire. 

That means Hawke’s army lies rotting on the Wounded Cost. Dead by blood magic and Hawke’s own blade – and isn’t that just _funny_?

Idunna thinks it’s funny. She always liked a bit of darkness in her humor. 

**

The problem, of course, is that what Hawke wants isn’t a rebellion. It doesn’t matter how much she dresses up the words or speaks in hushed tones about _unfortunate things_ or divine retribution. She doesn’t want to fix the Gallows so much as burn it to the ground and salt the ashes for good riddance. What Hawke wants is to punish the walls for holding her sister prisoner, and murder anyone who gets in her way. Blood to pay for an insult. It’s not about politics or even change, in the end. All Hawke wants is a way to get her sister out. After that’s done, the Gallows might as well be gone. 

It’s not the sort of thing that gets you followers. A rebellion might. 

Sadly, that’s been tried. It didn’t go so well. 

Idunna wonders how long it’s going to be before Hawke finally makes a real mistake. Something to get her executed in front of the whole city. Meredith wants her head on a pike. Orsino wants Hawke on his side, but fails to understand exactly what that means. And the rest of the Circle speaks in hushed tones about their chances of survival. 

The outcome doesn’t look good for any of them. 

**

However, Idunna is not the only one plotting things. Ser Miranda finds her in the library one afternoon, surrounded by books on arcane lore – a smokescreen for what Idunna really wants to read, which is a map of the surrounding mountains. Ten years out of date, but it’s something. She has Honey sitting on her lap, chewing on the collar of Idunna’s robes. “Ser Miranda. You’re looking well.”

Ser Miranda is not looking well. One of Ser Miranda’s eyes is swollen shut, and her mouth is crusted with dark blood. She smiles at Idunna, though not kindly. “I’m told you have good hands, mage.”

Is that code for something? Idunna frowns. She’s careful to cover the book of maps with a larger tome, just in case. Ser Miranda has been a friend to her, as much as a templar can be in a place like this, but these things can change in a heartbeat. “They’ve spun some gold, in their time.”

Ser Miranda nods stiffly. “Then you wouldn’t mind helping me with something, would you?”

Idunna gives her a sweet smile, as polite as she can manage. “I live to serve, Ser Templar.”

“Good.” Ser Miranda pauses. “Bring the dog.”

Oh?

Idunna never brings the dog when she fucks a templar. She doesn’t like to have Honey watch. It feels strange to her. 

Still, one must never contradict a templar in public. Least of all to their face. 

“Of course, Ser Miranda. Shall we?”

**

They end up back in Idunna’s rooms. At this time of day, the templars don’t patrol the dorms quite so often. Most of the mages are away in classes, or attending to their other duties. As such, they have something like privacy. That might be a bad thing. It depends upon what Ser Miranda has in mind. 

Idunna sits on the edge of her cot, holding Honey in front of her like a shield. Just in case. 

Ser Miranda has been kind to her before, but that means nothing _now_.

“You wanted something?” Idunna offers. It goes better if it sounds like her idea. 

The templar removes her helmet, setting it down on Idunna’s desk. “Do you believe in the Maker?”

What sort of question is that? Idunna doesn’t roll her eyes. “Are we not all His children?”

Ser Miranda shrugs. 

“I give thanks to the Circle for the time I can devote to contemplation,” Idunna continues. “Never before has my faith been so strong, or my mind so clear.”

“They’re going to take your mabari,” Ser Miranda says abruptly. 

“ _What_?” 

“The Knight-Commander doesn’t like it. She believes you are being shown too much lenience. That you are favored above others.”

Idunna squeezes Honey tight, until the puppy grunts and she has to relent. “They’re not taking my fucking dog.”

And whatever favors she’s been given, Idunna knows she’s worked for. She’s _earned_ those from every secret she pries out of the Circle walls, for every templar she’s gotten down on her knees for, and every apprentice she hasn’t told on. They can’t take Honey away. She’s earned this, Idunna thinks furiously. She’s been _so good_. She hears the demons but hasn’t listened. 

Ser Miranda folds her arms across her armored chest. “It will be done. I have heard things.”

Even the templars have secrets, just like the mages do. Secrets and conspiracies and hidden agendas, oh yes. Idunna presses her face into Honey’s back, listening to the puppy’s heartbeat go _thump-thump-thump_. “Can you help me?”

“Not the way you want.”

At least she’s honest. 

“Who complained?” Idunna asks finally. 

“No one complained. Out loud.”

Idunna glares at her. 

“Ser Janik oversteps his bounds,” Ser Miranda says, ever so softly. 

Idunna pauses. “Who?”

The templar snorts. “The one who fucks you in the storerooms.”

Oh. Him. Idunna frowns. “He’s never complained.”

“He talks when he drinks. Loudly.”

And someone’s been listening. Probably decided that Ser Janik had been a touch unprofessional. Probably should’ve just gone to the Rose and saved everyone the headache. But then, Idunna wouldn’t have the secrets that she needs to stay alive. Mistress Hawke must be paid, after all, and without her influence, Idunna knows she’d be dead or Tranquil in no short order. 

Idunna thins her mouth. Honey is squirming, wanting to get loose to run around the room. Idunna doesn’t let go. Something in her is afraid that if she does, the puppy will disappear. Just like that. 

This place is making her irrational. She used to be better than this. 

“Why are you telling me this?” Idunna asks. 

She and Ser Miranda drink together sometimes, but that doesn’t make them friends. Templars don’t risk their reputations for mages. Not in this Circle. Not after what Thrask and his friends died for. 

Ser Miranda watches her for a long moment. “You work for Hawke.”

Idunna scowls, and finally lets Honey wiggle out of her arms. “I speak with her sometimes. That’s not the same.”

Just in case the templar is getting ideas. 

Ser Miranda lets out a slow breath. “I have family here too.”

Idunna knows that. Most of the older mages do. A cousin of some sort that Ser Miranda looks after. Quietly, of course. No one is quite sure who the cousin is. Only a few of the mages look like Ser Miranda – it’s not often they get templars with Rivani blood. “Lots of people do.”

“It’s becoming difficult,” Ser Miranda says, “to remain as we are.”

Honey pounces on Idunna’s pillow, the latest present from her templar. Ser Janik. Idunna tries to forget he has a name, most of the time. Idunna leans back against the wall, so she can watch the templar and the mabari at the same time. She’s careful to keep her voice down. “Hawke’s not going to help you. She only cares about her sister.”

“Thrask miscalculated,” Ser Miranda snaps. “I don’t want her help. But I want you to pass a message along, the next time you see her. Tell Hawke that I want her coterie contacts. That I want some explosives.”

It’s not safe to sneer at templars. It’s the sort of thing they break you for. Idunna just smiles. She’s wearing lipstick, so it looks nice. She’s always been good at setting the scene. Drawing a strand of hair back _just so_ , smiling like that – always the good whore. Letting the client see what they want to see. “Why am I helping you, Ser Templar? That sounds like something the Maker wouldn’t approve of.”

Which means, why shouldn’t I just cut my losses and tell Meredith about it?

Ser Miranda stares at her for a long time. Her eyes are completely black. There’s a scar over her mouth where someone cut her, not too long ago. It’s puffy and red still. Ser Miranda is not the sort of woman who wears makeup, not even to hide a scar. “Because I’ll take you with me.”

Idunna blinks. “What?”

“I’m retiring,” Ser Miranda tells her, airily. “With my family. We’re going someplace far away. Perhaps we’d like some company on the trip.” Her expression darkens. “Hawke won’t let you out. She’ll let you burn with everyone else.”

Of course Hawke would. Hawke is consistent like that. 

Idunna watches Honey shake the pillow and rip feathers loose. “I’m not a battlemage.”

“You’re clever. I can use clever.” Ser Miranda shrugs. “And I’m told you have good hands. Come braid my hair, mage. My mother says it’s a disgrace. I won’t abide that any longer.”

**

Idunna has wonderful hands. She twists Ser Miranda’s long hair into a crown, and sticks flowers into it because she can. “Sometimes you even look like a woman,” she comments. “I might even like you, Ser Templar.”

Ser Miranda plays with Honey’s paws, touching each and every claw with the tip of her finger. “We could work well together, Enchanter.”

No one has ever called Idunna that. She almost laughs. “We’re going to die, aren’t we?” 

“We’re going to fight,” Ser Miranda says. Then she smiles, touching one of the flowers that Idunna stuck in her hair. “Don’t worry. I’ll kill you if they make you Tranquil. Just like you’ll kill me if they cripple me for what I’ll do. Isn’t that so?”

“Yes,” Idunna murmurs. “That is so.”

An oath like that might as well be marriage these days. They share wine and plot treason in the shadows.


End file.
